Strolling into the quiet kitchen, she opened the refrigerator and peered inside, shifting some containers around, seeking out whatever they'd had tonight. "Ugh, why isn't there anything to eat?"
"There's plenty to eat."
She startled at the interruption and looked across the kitchen at Dante in the doorway. "Where did you come from?"
"Same place you did," he said. "Mom."
Genna rolled her eyes. Smartass. "Where are all the leftovers from tonight?"
"Ah, there are none."
"What?" She gaped at him. Nothing left? "You ate all the food?"
"No, Dad told the cook to get rid of whatever was left," he replied. "Said if you wanted some, if you were hungry, you would've brought your ass downstairs at dinnertime."
"That's foul."
"You know how he is."
Stubborn as fuck. Genna turned back to the refrigerator and started pulling out the other containers, glancing inside of them. She found an almost empty container of chicken salad and grabbed a fork, leaning back against the counter as she ate. When it was all gone, she tossed the container in the sink and went right back to the refrigerator, seeking out more. "He in his office?"
"Yeah," Dante replied quietly. "He's fast asleep, already snoring."
When was the last time he slept in his bed? Probably years, Genna thought. Probably since the last time her mother slept in it with him.
Sighing, Genna grabbed a jar of pickles and pulled one out, taking a bite of it as she glanced back at her brother. He was still standing in the doorway, watching her, and making no move to come any closer.
"You know," she said, pointing the pickle at him. "I only went with him last night because he didn't want me to get hurt."
"I would've kept you safe."
She scoffed, taking another bite of the pickle as she glanced back into the refrigerator and looked around some more, finding a pack of ham. She grabbed some slices and wrapped them around her pickle before taking another bite. "You were a little, uh, preoccupied getting your ass kicked."
Dante scowled as he finally broke his stance, taking a few steps toward her. He didn't humor her with a response, his attention on her food. "What the hell are you eating?"
She shrugged, leaning back against the counter. "Food."
Dante fixed himself a drink as she finished off her snack, the last bite not settling well on her stomach. It started churning again, dizziness making her head fuzzy, as bile burned her chest. She swallowed thickly, trying to push it back, but it was too much.
Too sudden.
Too strong.
Genna dove for the trashcan, barely making it in time before she lost everything she had just eaten. Her stomach painfully heaved, purging everything inside of it.
Dante cursed and stepped back from her.
"Call the priest," she gasped, trying to catch her breath. "We need an exorcism."
"You all right?" he asked hesitantly.
"Yeah," she said, sitting back on her knees in front of the trashcan as her stomach settled back down. "Just haven't been feeling well. Think I got a virus or something."
"You're not pregnant, are you?"
His voice was playful as he nudged her, handing over his drink. She took it, scoffing as she took a sip of the cold water. Pregnant? "Of course not. I…"
Genna trailed off as that thought settled into her. No fucking way. She couldn't be. Jumping to her feet, knocking into Dante and spilling the water, she bolted across the room for the calendar on the wall and flipped back through it, counting the weeks.
No. No. No. Please, God, No.
Five weeks since that night with Matty in her room. Time had passed in such a blur, life delving into chaos, that she hadn't even noticed she missed her period. "Oh, God."
"Relax, sis, I'm just fucking with you," Dante said, laughing. Genna swung around to look at him, swallowing thickly, suddenly feeling like she was going to be sick again. Dante stared at her, his expression falling, his eyes widening. "You're not."
"It's just the stress," she said. "Stress does that, right? Because I've been under a lot of stress."
"Please tell me it's not even fucking possible, Genna," Dante said, stepping toward her. "Tell me you're smarter than that, that you've been safe."
"I, uh… it's not possible. It's just not. It can't be." She blinked rapidly. "Oh, God, please don't let it be."
Pregnant?
As that sunk in, Dante stormed out, heading straight for the front door and leaving the house, slamming the door as he left. Genna heard his car start up outside as she headed out to the foyer.
She went upstairs to her room, leaving the door wide open as she plopped down on the bed. She was in a daze, the word continually running through her head.
Pregnant?
In what seemed like no time at all, Dante reappeared, springing up in the doorway in front of her, clutching a bag from the nearby drugstore. He thrust it at her. "Do it."
She glanced inside the bag, seeing a pregnancy test. "I, uh…"
"Do it," he said again, his voice firmer. "Now."
Genna stood up, her legs shaking as she strode into the bathroom. Impossible, she thought. It just can't be.
Five minutes later, she stared at the two bright pink lines that told her it could be... that told her it was so. She stumbled out of the bathroom, seeking out her brother in her bedroom. Dante sat on the edge of her bed and slowly stood up, regarding her warily.
She said nothing. What could she say? Words evaded her, abandoning her when she needed them. She stared at him, shell-shocked.
Dante's face paled. She needn't say anything, anyway. He knew. He ran his hands through his hair, lacing his fingers together on the top of his head as he started for the door. "Guess we might need that priest, after all."
Her voice shook as she whispered, "Where are you going?"
"To do what I always do, Genna," he muttered. "Watch out for you."
The night was clear, the full moon glowing bright, high in the pitch-black sky. It neared midnight, another day almost upon them… another day of much the same.
Matty sat in the passenger seat of Enzo's Mercedes, his eyes focused out the window as the streets flew by in a blur. They were back in Soho, having survived the trip north.
Guns, it turned out. The Barsantis were stockpiling guns in a storage unit in East Harlem, ones they had stolen right under the Galantes noses in their territory. Matty had stood in the parking lot and watched a truck of freshly acquired weapons being unloaded. It left a bad taste in his mouth, bitterness he couldn't quite get rid of. All those guns, all that ammunition… they were preparing for something big.
Something he wanted far away from.
"You're tense," Enzo said, cutting his eyes at him. "I don't like it."
"Thought you said I was always tense."
"You are, but not like this. Usually you're like a coil, you know, ready to spring at any moment, but tonight you're like a thread… like if you get pulled any tighter you might finally break."
He felt that way. Fuck, did he feel that way. He wasn't sure how much more he could take, and he didn't want to stick around and find out. He had come for his mother, but now that she was gone, why was he even still there? "I'm tired of waiting around for that pink slip… think I might hand in my resignation instead."
"Think Dad will accept your resignation?"
"He won't really have a choice," Matty said. "By the time he realizes I quit, I'll be far away from here."
Enzo hesitated. "Alone?"
"I hope not," he said. "I hope she'll go with me."
"I hope she goes, too."
"You do?"
"Yeah." Enzo frowned, gazing at him, his voice earnest as he said, "I don't wanna see her hurt. I couldn't care less about the girl, but she's yours… she's your girl… and you're my brother."
He didn't say it outright, but Matty heard the full truth in those words. If they stuck around, if Genna stuck around, Enzo knew he might someday be
the one to have to hurt her.
Neither spoke anymore as Enzo navigated the streets of Soho. He pulled the car into the lot near The Place and they climbed out, heading out of the parking garage.
They rounded the corner, heading for the apartment, when someone behind them shouted, "Barsanti!"
They turned around, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. Dante Galante. Enzo immediately braced himself for a fight, both brothers expecting Dante to lunge for him, but instead he hastily stepped right toward Matty. Another guy flanked him, a short, stocky guy—the same one that had been with him on the street that day in Little Italy.
"What the fuck are you doing here, Galante?" Enzo spat, taking a step forward, but Dante quickly sidestepped him. Matty tried to react, to back up, his hands up defensively, but Dante was right in front of him within seconds, swinging.
Dante's fist connected with Matty's jaw, brutally knocking his head to the side, pain tearing down his spine as he stumbled a few steps, stunned. Before he could even get his footing, Dante snatched ahold of his collar, glaring angrily. "This is for my sister."
He swung again, back to back, his fists frantically pounding Matty's face, blackening his eye and busting his nose. Blood spewed down his face as he stumbled backward, all sense of logic disintegrating in the blast of blinding pain. Without even thinking, he struck back, clocking Dante upside the head. The punch ignited a brawl as Enzo fought off the second guy, leaving Matty to defend himself alone.
Matty unleashed every ounce of anger he could conjure, trying to keep him at bay, but he had nothing compared to Dante's fury. His fists packed venom that Matty couldn't match.
Dante knocked him to the ground, hauling his foot back and brutally kicking him. Pain split Matty's side, knocking the breath from his lungs. He could hear the crack and feel the agony from the force of the foot battering his ribcage, again and again. He tried to shield himself, snatching ahold of Dante's foot and yanking on it, trying to throw him to the ground, but Dante merely kicked himself loose.
"Fuck!" Matty cried, seconds before he saw the foot coming straight for his face. He tried to move, to block himself from the attack, but he barely had time to blink before he stomped his face. Pain exploded in his skull, so intense, so overwhelming, he momentarily blacked out.
As soon as everything came back into focus, Dante stepped away. Enzo's voice echoed around them, bitter and full of malice. "Back away from my fucking brother before I kill you."
Matty sat up, his vision blurred, warm blood pouring down the side of his face and staining his clothes. Through the haze he saw the gun, the shiny silver automatic Smith and Wesson revolver in his brother's steady hand, pointed right at Dante.
"En," Matty yelled, frantic, his voice cracking as he painfully forced it from his throat, but it was too late. Too fucking late. In the blink of an eye, Dante reached into his waistband, pulling his own gun and aiming.
A single gunshot tore through the night. It sounded like an explosion going off beside Matty, the street around them lighting up for a fraction of a second, as the lone bullet shattered every hope of the two families ever finding peace again.
Dust tickled Genna's nose, the attic smelling strongly of mothballs and mildew, the air stifling and stale from being locked up for years. Genna hadn't stepped foot in the room since her fifteenth birthday, but she had the overwhelming urge, at that moment, to head up those stairs.
It was the closest she'd ever come to seeing her mother again.
Genna tiptoed along the creaky wooden floor and pulled the string on the hanging overhead bulb. Light instantly surrounded her for a few seconds before flickering and vanishing with a loud pop.
She shrugged it off and sat down on the dirty floor, drawing her knees up to her chest as she wrapped her arms around them. Her body practically folded in on itself then, disappearing in the darkness, disintegrating into thin air, despite the heaviness in her limbs that made her feel like she was made of lead. Her mother's things surrounded her, a thick layer of dust coating it all, blankets of soil on the boxes, her old wedding dress tinged gray from neglect.
It felt like a lifetime ago that any of it had seen the light of day. A lifetime that Genna found herself longing for again, a life of simplicity, where the world made perfect sense. Things had been black and white then. Her family was everything, the good in her life, the heroes of her story, whereas the Barsantis were all that was wrong with the universe.
Sighing, Genna spread her legs out in front of her and lay back on the floor, her head landing on a pile of her mother's old summer dresses, mere rags now. She stared up at the ceiling, her hands drifting to her stomach as she lay there in silence.
What was she going to do?
What were they going to do?
How was she going to tell him?
Would he feel how she felt?
How the hell do I even feel? She was in total disbelief, numbness coating her body. She felt detached from the world, like she had slipped into an alternate reality where a Galante and a Barsanti could somehow be one family.
Certainly wasn't any reality she had ever lived in before.
Terrified, she decided. I'm fucking terrified.
She lay there for a while before closing her eyes, exhausted, but sleep evaded her. Eventually she heard a clatter downstairs in the house, noise she shrugged off at first as merely her imagination, until she heard doors slam and feet scurrying about. Curious, and not wanting her father to catch her up here, Genna headed out of the attic, hearing the commotion. She quietly tiptoed downstairs, finding Umberto standing in the foyer alone. His expression was grim, his face freshly battered. He'd taken a beating tonight.
Oh, God. Another fight.
She stepped right by him without speaking. He hardly looked at her, in a daze as he gazed off toward the kitchen. Genna walked that way, hearing hushed, frantic voices inside. She paused in the doorway, seeing her brother in a pair of boxer shorts, his white socks splattered with flecks of red. The rest of his clothes were in a heap on the floor, discarded, as Dante paced around them. His body trembled as he shook his hands, as if trying to get feeling back in them. "This is fucked… I'm fucked."
"You'll be fine, son," Primo said, pulling out a black trash bag to gather up his clothes as he motioned toward his feet. "Give me those socks."
Dante tore them off, nearly losing his balance, and tossed the socks into the bag before continuing to pace. His hands ran down his face as he muttered to himself, frenzied. "I swear I didn't mean to do it. I just… he drew first. The stupid fuck drew a gun on me. What else was I supposed to do?"
Genna's stomach sunk, her eyes widening in horror.
"You don't have to explain yourself," Primo said. "It was premature, yes, and you shouldn't have done it in Soho, but I'm not going to get upset that a Barsanti boy is dead."
Dead. Genna gasped at the word, drawing their attention straight to her. Dante's expression flickered, whatever bit of calm he had been struggling to maintain slipping away as his face contorted, almost as if he fought back tears. Genna frantically shook her head, those words pounding through her like a jackhammer.
Barsanti boy. Dead.
"Oh, God," she gasped. "What did you do?"
"Go to your room, Genevieve," Primo barked. "Now!"
She ignored him as she stepped further into the kitchen, her focus on her brother. "Dante, please… tell me."
"Genevieve!"
"Tell me!" she yelled frantically. "What did you do, Dante?"
"He drew on me," Dante said, his voice shaking. "Enzo pulled his gun. I had no choice. I had to shoot him."
Relief washed through Genna, so intense that her knees buckled. She had to grasp the wall to keep from hitting the floor. It wasn't Matty. Matty wasn't dead.
But that relief was short-lived. Matty may not be dead, but his brother was, killed at the hands of her brother. Dante—passive, protective Dante—was a murderer. The knowledge made the ground quake beneath her feet.
"Wh
y were you there?" she asked desperately, trying to make sense of it. "Why were you even in Soho tonight?"
Primo spoke up again, stepping between his children. "Genevieve, you know better than to meddle in business."
"Business?" She glared at her father. "This isn't just business, Dad. This is personal, and you know it! A boy is dead, and why? For what?"
"Because he's one of them," Primo growled. "And if this works out like it's supposed to, they'll all end up that way. I won't be satisfied until every single drop of Barsanti blood is spilled."
As soon as those words struck Genna, her hands instinctively clutched her stomach. She backed away, shaking her head as tears stung her eyes. Turning, she ran from the room, heading straight for the front door.
She couldn't be there. She couldn't be with them.
The trek to Soho felt like it took hours in the back of a cab. Genna fidgeted, repeatedly trying to call Matty but getting no answer again and again. The cabbie had to drop her off a block away from The Place, the neighborhood blocked off by police. Genna sprinted past the gathered onlookers, ducking right under the yellow crime scene tape, ignoring the protests when an officer tried to stop her.
"Matty?" she hollered, looking around desperately and freezing when she spotted him sitting along the curb across the street. His clothes were soiled, bloodstained and filthy, while dried blood caked the side of his swollen face. A medic hovered over him, trying to bandage his head. Genna started toward him when he looked up, his expression harsh. He shoved the medic away, refusing treatment, as his eyes met hers.
"Matty," she said frantically, crouching down in front of him and grasping his cheeks as she surveyed his battered face. "Oh God, look at you!"
"I'm fine." His voice was hardly a whisper as he covered her hands with his own, pulling them away from his face. "What are you doing here?"
"I know... I mean, I heard..." Tears spilled down her cheeks, despite how hard she fought to contain them. "Enzo."
Matty flinched at his name, his gaze darting across the street toward The Place. "They already took him away."